


Value loyalty above all else

by LordVis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordVis/pseuds/LordVis
Summary: “No one rules alone. That goes double when ruling something vast, like a world. Or worlds. Or entire star systems. But if you get dropped in a universe that you really don’t want to be in. With powers that at best attract a cult of child kidnappers, and at worst, well…  You might not need that advice after all. Because you won’t live long enough to need it.”A Star wars the old republic SI. The mmo that is. And SI because it’s literally made so players can feel like they're actually living the game. And you know what they say, knowledge is power. Question is, will it be enough power?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Value loyalty above all else

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t hate me?
> 
> Yea, that seems to be the standard thing to say for this kind of thing, no?
> 
> Anyway, quick note. No, i’m not english. I am dutch, which is the next best thing. Or so I’m told. Yes, I have an overactive imagination and a love for star wars. No, it won’t leave me alone until I write it out or drink a entire bottle of vodka to make me forget. This seemed the healthier of the two option.
> 
> Commence the, uuhm… Something!

Darkness is all Osnir sees as he comes to. With a parched throat, aching wrists from being bound and only sound to tell him what’s going on, you might forgive him for trying to speak.

The guard did not. And with a harsh, “Silence slave!” he was knocked back unconscious again.

Coming to for the second time was no more pleasant than the first, now with a painful bump on his head and a splitting headache to accompany it he stayed silent.

“The guard is gone, you may speak if you can.” A not immediately hostile voice told him. He liked this voice, it was speaking softly.

“Whe… Where am I?” A coughing fit overtook Osnir as other voices urgently tried to shush him.

“From what I could guess, where are on a shuttle. Where that shuttle is going, I have no idea.” The nice soft voice told him honestly.

“Both of you shut it. Do you _want_ the guard to come back?!” A third voice demanded, just as quietly, as Osnir’s stomach did a flip when the shuttle turned. ‘Wait, did he just say shuttle?’

“What shuttle? You mean a bus?” Talking was making his throat hurt worse. The others shushed them again, even more incessantly than before.

“What’s a bus?” The soft voice asked curiously before a much louder voice barked, “What did I say about talking, slave?!” and darkness once again claimed him.

“ETA to spaceport 6A in five minutes.” was what woke Osnir up again. Delirious and not remembering what happened the first two times he made noise, he asks; “What spaceport? Where we going?” Silence greeted him.

“Where we going, you ask?” A level voice answered. Without waiting for a reply it continued.

“Well, _you_ are going to hell. Or as close as you’re ever going to get anyway.” Seeming to read the confusion off Osnir’s face through whatever covered his head, the guard helpfully clarified, “Korriban.”

Osnir needed no guard to knock him unconscious that time, the head trauma and shock seemed perfectly happy to do it for them.

p^o^q

‘Waking up like this is really starting to get annoying’ was the first conscious thought Osnir had when he woke up. The second was; ‘What the shit fuck is going on!? Where am I Who am I What’s going on?! what the fUCK IS GOING ON?!’

As heads whipped around he realised that he may have shouted that last bit at the top of his lungs. Oops.

“Easy there, everything is alright.” A soft and reassuring voice told him from behind. Whipping his head around so fast he saw stars, he gave the one that must be Soft Voice an unimpressed stare. “Liar.”

Soft Voice shrugged unapologetically. “Yes, but it got you to focus on me and snapped you out of a panic attack.” Turning around to face him fully and seeing that Soft Voice was in fact a hulking two meter tall Devaronian, Osnir asked; “How long have I been out?”

“About a week.” Soft Voice answered promptly. 

“A _week_?”

“Hmm. They just brought you here a couple of hours ago. How do you feel?”

Now that he thought about it, pretty good. No headache or nausea, no sore throat or being blinded. So yeah, he felt great. Saying as much Soft Voice shrugged again. “Must have put you in bacta.”

“Right, _bacta._ ” Osnir parroted back, severely unimpressed. Standing up and looking at the ceiling, he also gave that a look to make sure it also understood how utterly done Osnir already was with the situation.

“Alright, that’s enough. Cut the simulation.” The ceiling, of course, did not reply. “Wake up!” Pinching himself, and then slapping himself in the face when pinching didn’t work, he got slightly more desperate. “Whatever mushroom coma induced hallucination this is, I’m done with it! Wake up!” Slapping himself a couple more time to make sure, he finally noticed that everyone was looking at him funny.

“You’re not dreaming.” Soft Voice informed him carefully. Like one might talk to an injured baby deer. Or a crazy person.

“Well of course you would fuc…” Osnir cut himself off. His vision was filled with people all wearing very red gear and holding weapons, and that took precedence over freaking out. For now.

“Soft Voice? If I was gone a week, what have you been doing?” He asked carefully. 

“Ah, that. You see, we’re currently on korriban. If you didn't know that. And seeing as we are all slaves and have no training, we were not in fact send to the academy.” Soft Voice informed him matter-of-factly. “We were sent to a training camp of sorts. If we survive and complete our training to the satisfaction of the overseers, we will be promoted to acolytes and send to the academy proper.” Shooting me an appraising look he murmured; “The overseer bragged that this was one of the training camps with the lowest survival rate of all.”

Walking to a locker on the other side of the room he grabbed a uniform and weapon. Motioning Osnir to follow him they started walking to gods-know-where. “If you want to have any hope of surviving more than a day you need to catch up.”

Arriving at an empty room, throwing Osnir the gear and making no move to leave, he finally said, “Put that on.” and looked at Osnir expectantly. Never having been terribly shy, Osnir stripped of his shirt and looked down to undo his pants when he caught sight of his stomach.

‘That is not what I look like!’ was a much calmer response than what flew through Osnir’s head when confronted with a body not his own.

Whipping his head around and finding a mirror, he lunged towards it and began rapidly touching and looking at something that should not be.

A body filled with scars - some old, other not so much. - and much more, well, muscle, was what greeted him. Signs of malnourishment and badly healed burns completed the picture.

Soft Voice interrupted his touch and feel session by loudly clearing his throat. Once again whipping around and seeing Soft Voice looking at the armor expectantly, he hesitated. Choosing to not piss off the giant of a Devorinion he left the mirror and put on the armor.

Soft Voice threw the training saber, and having somewhat expected this, Osnir caught it. At the blade part.

Pain shot through his body for a second before it vanished, and his hands immediately dropped the saber. Looking at Soft Voice and seeing the ghost of a smile on his face, he sighed and picked up the saber. At the handle part, this time.

‘Hold up, that’s wrong. I shouldn't shrug of the worst pain I have ever felt like it’s nothing! That’s not ho...’ Once again begin interrupted, this time by a Devaronian charging at him with a saber poised to strike a devastating overhead blow. Osnir panicked and dove to the side, dropping his weapon again in the process.

Slowing down halfway to Osnir, Soft Voice lowered his saber and helped him back up. “So you have no fighting experience to speak of, then.”

“Of course I don’t!” Osnir half shouted while he brushed his painful knees. But again, the pain didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should. “You _do_?”

“Before I came to this place? No.” Soft Voice answered plainly. “But I learned, as you must learn.” He took a stance and motioned Osnir to mirror him, who reluctantly complied. “Now, this is the first set of kata’s for the first Form. Also known as Shii-Cho.”

p^o^q

Dropping in a bed hours later, with every part of his body begging him to rest, he fell asleep almost instantly. Nevermind the impossibility of being in a different universe. Nevermind being able to use the force, if only once and by accident. His body was tired and bruised and nothing mattered nearly as much as sleep.

His last thought for this fuckup of day was,

‘I would like to go home now.’

But since when does the universe care about what _we_ want?


End file.
